


doubt truth to be a liar

by ThottyBarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Knight Bucky Barnes, Knight!Bucky, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prince Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is Not a Nazi, Stubborn Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, breath of the wild - Freeform, one sided enemies to friends to lovers, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThottyBarnes/pseuds/ThottyBarnes
Summary: Steve Rogers, as legend told him, had the blood of the Goddess inside of him. He never believed this, because if the blood of the Goddess was in him, maybe he wouldn't be small and sick and in need of a healer to work on him once every few months. Maybe, if Steve had the blood of the Goddess, he'd be able to access Erskine's Power and take on the 'Darkness' threatening the safety of Brooklyn alone.Maybe, if Steve had the blood of the Goddess in him, he wouldn't have a knight breathing down his neck everywhere he went- tall dark and handsome as said knight may be.In which Steve needs to figure out how to get his shit together, share some of the burden weighing on his shoulders, and maybe fall in love with his protector along the way.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is HEAVILY!! inspired by Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. There will be fluff and all that good stuff eventually, but I still believe that Steve has the same personality as a wet alley cat until you stick around long enough to experience otherwise.
> 
> Enjoy the prologue :)

The noise in the great hall of Brooklyn castle was great. The chalices were full of bourbon, and the knights and servants and lords, ladies and barons ate their fill. The best band of bards played fast music with their instruments collected from across the country. The ground shook beneath the feet of the guests as they hopped in time to the mismatched instruments beautiful tune. The hall was filled with people from across the country of York and the four largest regions— Harlem, Manhattan, Sokovia and Dayton— all flooded to the capital of to celebrate the phenomenal news. 

Queen Sarah was with child. Not only with child, but with son. 

She sat on the Dias of her and her husband, Josephs, sat stiffly int he throne next to her. The hand that was not intertwined with her beloved husbands, was stroking the round of her stomach and the smile she wore the entire night was no longer paining her cheeks. Her voice did not waver, no matter how many gifts or well wishes she accepted from her people as they took turns climbing up the steps to meet them

This was the normal for Brooklyn. It was a large, prosperous region in the heart of York. The castle was wide and tall, and the moats surrounding it were filled with the life that was so abundant in the country. The trees were thick and the gardens flourished. The farmlands throughout the country were, without fail, bountiful year round whether or not the winter previously was harsh. The weather remained consistent and the storms remained minor, and no hand in the country begged. 

Life was good, and Sarah’s life was good. Call it a blessing from the goddess, give thanks to the hero who had sealed the Great Darkness all those centuries ago, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

The prophecy described the history of Brooklyn, also described the Darkness lying underneath it— deep within the planets crust. The Darkness was a primal evil which had risen time and time again and endured over the ages, only to be turned back time and time again by the Hero and the Heir. The Hero was a chosen knight, who had the ability to hold the only weapon which would continuously seal away the Darkness. The Heir, who would be a direct descendant of the Goddess Herself would have a great power called The Erskine. In tandem with the other, the Heir and the Hero would continuously fight for the light and win, regardless of how they got from beginning to end. 

It was Sarah’s bloodline which carried the blood of the Goddess, just as her mother, Morgan, did before her and Morgan’s father, Tony. Tony, aware of the weight of his bloodline and the implications, if not for him and his daughter, but his descendants afterwards, created a legionnaire. Men and creatures made of the metal which was found to be so bountiful under the Earths ground were programmed and designed for one soul purpose— to autonomously defend Brooklyn against all threat. The tech itself was rooted and inspired by the scattering of towers and temples located around the country, and left by ancestors long forgotten. It was his fathers work, Howard, which had inspired him, and in collaboration with each other, father and son pushed the Kingdom of Brooklyn into a new golden age. 

However, the knowledge and explanations of how the legion worked had burned in the fire that had killed Queen Morgan when Sarah was only thirteen. Sarah had been the youngest queen in a century, and her first implementation as such was to establish a research team which would work hard to recover and reexamine, not only the legionnaire and other machines her grandfather had built, but also the ancient buildings around the county. 

“Are you well, my Queen?” Joseph squeezed her hand and leaned in, his lips brushing lovingly against her cheekbone. Sarah could only offer a small smile and nod, rubbing her stomach as her son kicked lightly. It was always delicate touches from him— she’d never experienced a foot between her ribs or bruising otherwise, and it was her personal hope that instead of being ill, that her son was simply kind, and good to his very core.

“I’m fine. Our son is simply dancing.” She murmured, just loud enough for only him to hear. 

“Or fighting.” Joseph smiled, and Sarah rolled her eyes. 

“Sure, my love. Whatever you please.” She replied and smiled at the upcoming group of people. A sense of relief washed over her as she took in the fierce band of women, carrying dark jewels and cloth and other local luxuries. The Widows Guild from the Manhattan region was always a sight to see, simply because of the culture by which they lived. No man could enter Manhattan, as the Widows were a group of only women. The only reason why many of them left was to find a mate and carry the bloodline or attend royal gatherings such as this. 

The one exception of this group however, was one Natasha Romanoff. She was easily the most skilled fighter in her region and highly celebrated. Natasha had been an ally of the royal family for decades. She’d helped raise Maria, and then helped train Tony, and had been a confidant to Morgan and now, Sarah considered Natasha to be her closest friend. 

“Natasha.” Sarah greeted, standing and wrapping her arms around the seemingly youthful woman. The Widows didn’t age the same as mere humans, only dying when killed by another. 

“My Lady.” Natasha smirked and Sarah wanted to roll her eyes at the cordiality. “It is the greatest honour to represent my people and be here tonight, on this momentous occasion to celebrate by godsons life.” She smiled her coy, perfect smile and Sarah smiled back. 

“It is an honour to host my dearest friends and her people.” Sarah clutched Natasha’s hands and pressed her lips to her rings. “I pray you loosen up by the time the night is over.” She joked and Natasha threw her head back and laughed loudly— the crystalline sound making time slow down. Men and women alike looked to Natasha at the sound, a light haze settling on their minds. 

“Maybe, my little lamb.” Natasha crooned fondly, her long red hair shining under the lights of the hall— a trademark feature fo the widows. “I would like a dance at some point to night, Your Leige.”

“Call me by my name, and only on that chance I will consider.” Sarah quipped and Natasha laughed once more, curling her delicate, perfect hand over the swell of Sarah’s stomach. She leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially to the bump. 

“If you are half as stubborn as your mother, I pray for you and those around you, little one.” Natasha grinned up at Sarah and let her eyes flick to Joseph, nodding politely before turning back to her people and walking with them and onto the dance floor which was beginning to fill. 

It was another few round of people Sarah didn’t know very well before she saw another familiar face. She rose from her throne once more with the help of Joseph to greet the witches and healers. Dr. Stephen Strange of the Sokovian region had taken care of her throughout her pregnancy, his spells and potions making all ailments of pregnancy small blips— something which she was entirely grateful for. It was the small, shy red head standing behind him that held her attention on this night, however. 

“Will this be my sons healer, should he need one?” Sarah’s voice was gentle, and the young girl flushed red. Strange put a large, rough hand on her shoulder and steadied her. 

“Yes, this is Wanda Maximoff. She is young, but her talent with healing and other magiks will prove very useful to your family.” Strange smiled, and Sarah held her hand out to Wanda, who took it with a shaking hand. 

“Would you like to feel him?” She asked quietly, and Wanda looked up at Strange for permission. At the slightest nod, Wanda took the queens hand and let her place it on her stomach. Wanda gasped, squinting her eyes and feeling for any ailments and issues in the fetus. She hastily took her hand off of the bump, and retreated, fearfully looking up at Strange. 

“You cannot tell me anything which Stephen has not already informed me. My baby is sick, and will be born sick, which is why I kindly request your help.” Sarah smiled, taking Wanda’s hand once more. “Stephen will be staying at the castle in the ninth month, and I hope you will accept the request to find a home here for the first few years of my sons life.”

“Your highness?” Wanda asked in a small voice, and with an encouraging nod from the queen, continued. “Why me?”

Sarah smiled softly and cupped Wanda’s cheek. “It is within the youth of this country that will keep it from falling and it is within the guidance of your elders and the changing of times that your generation will be the greatest yet.”

Wanda flushed as dark as her hair, and Sarah grinned, pushing a stray strand of hair behind the girls pointed ears. 

“Thank you, your majesty. I— may I make a single request though, if it pleases you?” Wanda shook nervously and Sarah pulled her up to the throne, sitting out of exhaustion and keeping her hands intertwined with the young healers. 

“Anything, my girl.” She said, and Wanda shifted her feet anxiously. 

“My twin brother, Pietro. He is not gifted with the same magic as I, but he can still be of great use to you here. I request that he come with me. Please and thank-you, my Lady.” Wanda’s eyes were glassy at the idea fo being separated from those she loved. Sarah knew the feeling. 

“It would be my honour.” Sarah nodded and Wanda beamed a huge, toothy grin. 

“Thank you, your Highness!” Wanda cheered and with a clumsy curtsey, fled back to Strange. She looked back over her shoulder as the witches left the Dias and waved eagerly— a sentiment that Sarah returned. 

A servant offered Sarah a goblet of water, which she finished quickly and leaned back into her throne. 

“We can retire at any moment, my Love.” Joseph murmured, concerned for the health of his family, and Sarah, ever stubborn, waved him off. 

Immediately, The Harlem people moved up. The descendants of the long gone harpy’s always made Sarah’s heart stop. They were mostly human now, the only indication of their ancestors was a smattering of feathers over their breast and shoulders and massive, heavy, powerful wings protruding from their shoulder blades. The many colours were amazing to behold and the heavy, warm clothing was tailored around their appendages in order to hide their human bodies from the cold of the Harlem region. 

The gifts were ornate and beautiful, and the food which they had brought for the feast was spicy, and flavourful and warm and frankly, Sarah often preferred it over the castles own. The Harlem food filled her with a sense of homeliness and warmth. 

Sarah smiled and placed a hand on the chiefs newborn son, bowing her head and calling a blessing of the Goddess. The child was only three months, his dark skin as still soft and his brown eyes were warm and kind. The child smiled up at Sarah and his eyes disappeared due to just how chubby the babies cheeks were and Sarah’s heart clenched. His wings were a smattering of browns which drifted into a speckled white— similar to that of the falcons which were used to send letters. 

“What’s his name?” Sarah asked softly, brushing a thumb over the baby’s forehead. 

“Samuel.” The chief whispered and the tenderness he had said the Childs name with warmed Sarah from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. 

“I pray that he and my own son get along exceptionally one day, should you ever return to the capital.” She smiled and the chief nodded slowly, never once taking his eyes off of young Samuel. 

“One day, my Queen.”

The next, and final group was a group of shifters from Dayton, and their elder, Bruce, was in a similar position as Sarah. Came to power far too young, but from different causes. Shifters were inherently passionate people, and more potent Han not, their shifting depended on that passion. Otherwise calm and deeply grounded, shifters were sometimes caught up in their feelings, resulting in dangerous fights over the bridges and paths of the secluded mountain range. 

“My Queen.” Bruce greeted kindly, and understanding his quiet demeanour, would not push him out of his comfort zone by attempting to make small talk. 

“Bruce. Thank you for coming tonight with your people. The act will not go unnoticed.” She smiled and bowed her head, not reaching to touch him in order to respect their modest culture. 

“Thank you, My Lady.” He said and turned to leave. 

The night carried on as such, and Sarah could not help but continue to glance over at Natasha, silently begging her with her mind to come and help her out of the pit of boredom sometimes came from surface talk. Sarah loved her people, but there was only so many times she could thank someone before the words felt artificial on her tongue. 

The queens eyes surveyed the celebration, happy to stick to her throne and husbands side tonight, and her gaze set upon the families of the royal guards. There was one in particular that she held a certain fondness for— the Barnes family. George had been captain of the queens guard for years now, and his wife, Winnifred had been her maid long before they had gotten married. It was Sarah herself who had blessed the marriage, and it was Sarah who had blessed the life of their one son, James Barnes— fondly called ‘Bucky’ by everyone in the castle. The boy had had his first birthday a fortnight prior, and he was already showing a desire to follow in his fathers footsteps. 

Sarah giggled to herself as she watched Bucky run through the legs of barons and lords and ladies, a gaggle of children from across the land following him. All of the children were squealing and laughing, running around with wooden spoons from dinner, pretending to defend the highborn from the Darknesses clutches. While some wrinkled their noses at the screaming children, most played along— gratefully thanking them for saving their lives and knighting them with their own forks or knives. 

“My Love,”Joseph started and Sarah turned to him, half expecting him to begin convincing her to retire for the sake of their son. Instead, he moved to stand tall and strong and proud in front of her and offer her his hand— roughened from years of combat training and travel. 

“I would be honoured if you would dance with me.” He said, a hint of blush creeping from the line of his well-groomed beard. Sarah blushed in kind, and her heart fluttered happily as she let him lead her to the middle of the packed dance floor. The crowd cleared slightly away from hem as they begun to step in time, staring at each other lovingly as the music swelled. 

“I love you, Joseph.” Sarah whispered and squealed when he spun her quickly. 

“I love you, Sarah. My greatest treasure.” He murmured and leaned in, planting a conservative, but soft kiss onto her lips. It seemed the night and food and dancing had covered the hall and country in a soft glow— one that warmed each and every person from the inside out. The dancing continued and the food flowed faster than the wine, and the volume of the party seemed to be the most thunderous thing in the world. 

So it was no surprise that a new guest was overlooked for the first few minutes of their entry. His palid, grey skin was out of place among the red and gold of the palace, and his black armour and tunic seemed to absorb the light the wanted to touch him. It wasn’t until he began to move towards the king and queen that people began to take notice of him. The oddness of this new character made the party guests stand back. The eyes of knights and warriors from across the land fell on him the same speed their hands went to the hilts or bows of their weapons, which were only supposed to be for glamour and decoration on this night. Not combat. 

Soon, the new guests’ presence quieted the hall and made some of the warmth leave. Eventually, the tension reached the king and queen, who had stopped dancing merrily when Natasha and her Widows surrounded them protectively. The Harlem people flocked to the sides and balconies— the better places for them to have their eyes over the crowd should a fight break loose. It was easier to use a bow and arrow when you could see what was happening. The shifters and witches stood in front of the humans upon realizing that this guest was nothing like they’d ever seen. A foreigner. A hostile. How he had gotten past the legionnaire would be a question asked for years to come. 

“People of York!” His voice boomed loudly as if it was altered somehow. It was high pitched and cold, and froze Sarah— chilling her to the bone. “Hear me, and rejoice! The time has come for the rightful king to take His place. He grows stronger every passing day under the crust of the earth and with the help of his faithful and loyal subjects. With the help of the Black Order and His children, the great god, Thanos grows stronger every passing second!” Whispers of fear erupted across the hall, and the crowd shrunk further back from the guest. The happenings of the two dark magic cults within York hadn’t been reported in two centuries, and the news that they were not only alive and flourishing, but working together sent a chill through the hall.

“Don’t you mean demon?!” Someone in the crowd shouted, follow by more shouts of agreement. 

“Be it a demon or a god, they come from the same origin.” The guest replied cooly. “In a short 24 years time, The Children of Thanos shall bring Him home. Here.” He raised one hand and his palm, swirled a mass of what could only be described as liquid obsidian. He raised his hand quickly and the ground shook under their feet as an unearthly scream split their ear drums. 

“Gone is the life you once knew and held so dear. Welcome one and all, to the New World Order!” The guest raised his arms out by the side before two fo the royal guards seized him, only making the guest smile. 

“If history is to repeat itself once more, then the light shall win once more!” Cried Joseph, snarling at the guest as he was brought forth. Instead of shrinking from the Queens Consort, a wicked smile split the guests face in half. 

“But unlike history, your luck is running out, isn’t it?” The guest turned his black eyes onto Sarah, who was pushed back behind Natasha who had since drawn her long, heavy ornamental sword. 

“The blood of the goddess has become so diluted that the last to feel Her power died centuries ago. You know this,” he said, staring hard at Sarah who shook under his gaze. “You know the blood is diluted to the point of non existence, for you are carrying the first sick child of the royal family. You yourself grow more ill each passing day the longer you carry this supposed ‘hero’.” He smirked mockingly. “Your luck is running out, Queen, and unlike you, Thanos only grows stronger with time.” He explained, and a fountain of ice water filled Sarah’s stomach. She held her bump as if her thin arms were all the protection needed for her son. Her sick son. The hall, now quiet, echoed with the words that he spoke, a small smattering of whispers arising at the news of the Queens illness.

“How do you know this?” Joseph growled, stepping forward and wrapping his fist around the guests thin neck. The guest ignored him, instead, keeping his eyes fixed on Sarah.

“You have your nurses and witches but that won’t stop the fact that your son is a runt, and will not only be unfit for kingship, but unfit to slay Thanos.” He spat and was then forced down to his knees in front of the Queen. 

“My name is Ebony Maw, Child of Thanos. Praise be.” He snarled before breaking free from the guards as easy as one would free themselves from a spider web and rose, disappearing in a mass of smouldering, sweltering ash.


	2. the champions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the champions from the four regions are introduced- Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Wanda Maximoff, and Natasha Romanoff. Steve has worries and concerns and walls and a lot of pent up feelings, honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait for updates :/. between covid and the protests and mom getting sick, I've been a little distracted

The cold of the Harlem air bit at Steve’s cheeks and made the young man bury his nose into his thick scarves. His horse, Captain huffed under him with exertion as they continued to battle their way up to the peak where they would find the village and Steve, despite his own stubbornness, considered briefly turning back. No human had dared to climb the mountains high enough to reach Harlem— either quitting while ahead or succumbing to the cold, ice, and snow. He could hear his guard following closely behind, and tried his best to not hear their teeth clattering together. 

‘It is up to you to make the people of York come together. We only have one year and eight months until the Return, and we need to be as prepared as possible.’ His father's gruff voice had been a constant mantra in his head ever since the previous week. He needed champions— one from each region of York to have diplomatic alliances with. He needed champions to steer the four Great Beasts which his great-grandfather had created to protect from this very threat. He needed to get over the fact that he wanted to do it all himself. 

So, Steve pushed on. He made frequent stops for his guard to drink as many heat elixirs as they needed to continue. He walked slower than he would have wanted so his horse didn’t drop dead, and he smiled at the stable hands and random travelers they passed in hopes that seeing someone of his status among them would give them some faith that the capital had a plan. 

He was being very princely, thank you very much. 

He had heard about the knight of Harlem. How he was fast and precise and perfect. How he was kind and protective and loved his ma and his mate more than anything in the world. Steve had listened to his father's war council go no and on about this Hero of Harlem for a full half-hour before they finally dropped his name, making Steve snort into his drink. 

“Sam Wilson. Sam Wilson is the bravest man you know?” He had looked over the rim of his glass to Coulson and forced his expression into something just a little less than amusement. Sam Wilson, brave and true as he may be, was a massive dweeb and one of Steve’s best friends. 

Their early years were a blur— meeting orchestrated by Steve’s mother, Sarah, and the chief of Harlem in hoped that their friendship would not only be good for them as children but for the whole of the country. He hadn’t spoken to Sam in years— ever since Sarah had passed and the regions turned in on themselves— but Steve, without a doubt, believed that Sam Wilson was still a massive nerd. 

They came upon the flight range first. The cave that Steve and his guards were riding through had opened up into a canyon filled with cliffs and spires of stone with targets built into the bedrock and hung from branches of bare trees under a light, icy blue sky. There were a few warm huts dotted around the perimeter of the small canyon and decorated in classic Harlem style— a hint that this flight range has and would outlive every alive today. All elements of this area were perfect for its people. 

Steve dismounted quickly, handing the reins of his horse to one of the guards and trudging in his snow boots towards the nearest hut— the one with smoke billowing out of the chimney. Eventually, Steve has got close enough to see someone with their wings readout on either side of them, head bent in apparent prayer. His wings were massive, and the bow strapped to his back was one of the largest Steve has ever seen. Before Steve could even think to open his mouth, the wings flapped out, resting just above the ground before a gale of wind found them, allowing for the great creature to launch itself so quickly into the air that Steve was sure if he blinked he would have missed it. 

Despite the person's size, they moved quickly, taking the bright turquoise arrows and knocking them into the bow, letting loose and hitting every target which was aimed perfectly. The man swooped without fear or hesitation, and Steve watched in pure amazement as, with a final flip in the air, landed right in front of him.

“Never thought you’d show your ugly mug around here again after last time.” The man smirked, crossing his arms and tilting his head teasingly at the prince. Steve repressed his own smile and called off the guards who had half-unsheathed their swords at the jab. 

“Considering you’re some master of the bow, I feel as if I did quite well. Plus, I’d like to see you beat me on horseback.” He said, straightening his spine and standing as tall as he could. Even so, Steve only came up to the man's collarbone. 

“Why would I want to traipse on some smelly animal when I could just use my wings and get somewhere in a fraction of the time?” The man asked, stepping closer to Steve. Any other person would have been shaking in their boots at the man's intense stare, but Steve only grew more and more bemused. 

“It’s okay to admit that you’re not number one at everything you do, you know.” Steve snarked back and washed in delight as the man's harsh mask broke, revealing a nerdy, gap-toothed smile. 

“Anyone ever told you you’re a punk?” He joked and held his arms out by his sides, welcomingly. 

“Not enough, apparently.” Steve joked back and welcomed the man's embrace, letting him pull him to his side to walk in time with him to the hut. “How’ve you been, Sam?” 

Sam shrugged but didn’t let the smile fall off his face. “Got a letter a few weeks ago asking if I’d be the Prince’s Champion of Harlem. Apparently I’m not good enough to be his personal guard since the king has already filled that role without consulting anyone at all, but I think this is good enough.” He joked and Steve rolled his eyes at the mention of the Brooklyn champion. Everything Steve wanted to be, to be following him around like some mocking shadow come next week. 

“You know if I had had any choice in this that I would have chosen you, you know that, right?” Steve grumbled, thanking Sam for opening the gate to the stairs leading up to the hut. 

“Is this guy really all he’s cracked up to be?” Sam wondered, raising an eyebrow at the guards who continued to follow them. Steve raised a hand to them, and the men in metal simply stopped, instead of posting themselves on either side of the door and by the windows. The door shut softly behind the pair, and the warmth that greeted Steve was everything he had ever wanted. The hut was decorated practically— piles of blankets and pillows stacked high int he corners and by the fire. There were a few hammocks in the back corner of the hut, and a small kitchen on the other side, filled with only the basics. Steve let himself drop his princely posture as he dropped into a chair by the fire and frowned. 

“I haven’t even met the guy. How the hell am I supposed to know he’s the best if I’ve never even heard of him, huh?” Steve grumbled, taking out a small potion bottle and downing the contents due to the fact that the walk to the hut just about did his lungs in. 

“Is it official at least?” Sam asked, handing him a cup of water at the sight of Steve’s grimace. Steve shook his head while he sipped and pursed his lips, staring blankly into the fire. 

“No. There’s one last step that he needs to go through— retrieving the ‘Sword that Seals the Darkness’ from the basement of the castle temple. I’ve only seen it a few times when I tried to go down and pray, but the thing has some sort of barrier around it. Nobody can get close enough to the worship Dias to pray, so it just sits in the basement collecting dust. It’s stabbed into stone and everything for the precious hero to pull it from.” Steve spat venomously, and even Sam felt his heart squeeze in envy. He knew that nobody on this planet would understand just what the prince was going through— he dedicated his life and studies to the technology and stories that made the kingdom what it was. Sam had been present of one single prayer session, and even he was exhausted by the end of it. Yet, Steve continued to search for the means to unlock whatever power the goddess had passed on. Nothing came naturally to Steve, and that sucked. 

“I could kick his ass for you if you needed me to, you know.” Sam joked, at a loss of what to say. It was worth it— Steve’s shining, rare smile split across his face, and he even snorted, making Sams's chest bloom with pride. Smiles were rare from the grumpy prince— as far as Sam was aware, this was a win. 

“I’d let you be prince to see that.” Steve grinned, and as he turned his face to look at Sam, the expression fell off his face. “Sam. You know this role is going to come with a lot of risks. You’re going to be spending a lot of time away from Riley and your clan to serve the Capital. You’re going to have to come to banquets and eventually when all of this comes to a head, you’re going to have to put your life on the line.”

At Sams's silence, Steve continued. 

“Look, I can ask Clint, or Rhodey, or Vision. Anyone of them would do, but—“

“They’re not me.” Sam finished, pulling one of his wings into his lap to sift through the beautiful feathers. He picked out some twigs he had picked up from training and threw them to the floor. 

“They’re not you.” Steve finished. Sam inhaled and held his breath, watching the flames int he fire pit dance and flick anxiously, mimicking the rapid beating of his heart. 

“The prince needs my help.” He said, looking up through his dark lashes at Steve. “You bet your rich little ass I’m in. Who else is going to keep the Hero in-line— hey!” Sam crowed, ducking and avoiding the cup thrown at his head. 

_____________________

Unlike the freezing temperatures of Harlem, the heat of Dayton was overwhelming and suffocating. The armour which would protect Steve from the flames encroaching from the rivers of magma licked at the steel of his boots and it grew harder and harder to breathe or walk the more he moved. The road to Dayton had been infected with monsters— signs that the Darkness was growing more and more each day, and while his guards fought them off bravely, Steve couldn’t help but fear the future, and just what these infestations meant. 

Eventually, they’d come across the main town of the shifters. Most of them were in forms that would better suit the heat— longer ears, thicker skin, even humps for water retention. They came across the biggest cave in the town, and with permission from the guards (a lizard with golden eyes, and a vulture) walked in. It was slightly cooler here, but the heat of the metal armour continued to make Steves's chest tighten. 

The man in the throne was a stranger— a nervous one at that. He was huge— massive muscles covered in light green skin and thin hair. He was not wearing a shirt, but wore thick-looking pants. His feet, roughly the size of garbage can lids, were too big for shoes, so his toes rested on the hot rock. 

“Your majesty, it is an honour to house you, no matter how short your stay is expected to be.” His voice was shaky and nervous and his fingers pinched the skin of his knuckles— a bad habit Steve knew all too well. 

“The honour is mine, Leader Banner.” Steve bowed. Leader Banner sputtered and raised his hands in front of him, waving off the formality. 

“My name is Bruce, your Majesty. And I know what you’re here for. Of course, I accept your request. It would be a great privilege to be your Champion, and live at risk in order for the world to continue turning.”

Steve rose and nodded— that was easier than expected. 

“If I am to call you Bruce, you are to call me Steve. It’s only fair.” Steve accepted, and Bruce nodded, a small smile making the corners of his lips curve. 

“Steve. Anyways, I do not mean to rush you out of here, but this heat is not made for your human forms. Even with elixirs, you won’t last too much longer. I will continue to correspond directly with you, and send letters by sky shifter, for the sake of both of our comfort.” Bruce smiled kindly, and as much as Steve wanted to hang around and make friends with him the same way it was so easy to do with Sam, he really, really hated this heat.

“Thank you for understanding, Bruce. Thank you for welcoming us into your home in times like these, and I will be eagerly awaiting word.” Steve smiled, even though he doubted Bruce could read any expression through the mask he was wearing. 

____________________

When Steve traveled to the Sokovia region to request Wanda to be the champion (he was calling them champions instead of political allies, it made this whole process more fun), it was only when he walked through the delicately carved archway into the domain grounds that he remembered he was due for a healing session. His spine ached, and while the waterfalls streaming down the cliffsides made the air moist, the chill from the north kept it from hurting his lungs too much. Not only his largest ailments, but he’d grown worn and tired and as they made their way from the sweltering heat of Dayton to the moderate climate of Sokovia, every joint in his body screamed in protest. However, Steve walked straight, and held his head high, because while he may be sick he still represented the crown.

“Your highness!” A jovial voice cried, and Steve turned to the source, finding the owner. He was a short round man, and a smile so wide his eyes turned into thin slits. He held his arms out and embraced Steve (the older witches nearby gasped, affronted) and Steve hugged back. 

“Wong! It’s nice to see you.” Steve smiled, grateful he didn’t need to crane his aching neck up to look at his conversation partner. “Is Strange here?”

“No, my friend. He’s gone to a small village a few days away— there was an issue with a cow and a moose— very tricky. But! He knows why you’re here.” He said, guiding him up the shallow (but many) steps towards the healing ‘room’. The witches didn’t hide from the elements, for they had no reason until recently to hide. They would pay homage to the Earth in gifts and rituals and a yearly festival, by which the Earth would return with a bountiful harvest and moderate weather. However, since the ground had begun to quake, the rains had begun to get more severe, the winds cut the skin and the sun burned the grass. Steve could see the hurt of the Sokovian people but their empty storefronts and haphazard curtains bought from a (recently) poor neighbouring town. 

Steve, before he could succumb to the guilt and responsibility of these being his people, was brought into the healing room. The air was thick from the oils and smells of the ointments and it seemed to vibrate from the contained magic which had no escape now that the gaps between posts were covered. There was a fire in the centre of the room, and sitting by it was one of Steve’s greatest treasures. 

“Steven, you’re late.” Wanda’s voice sounded reprimanding, but her face was open and kind as she wrapped her arms around him. The twins had lived in the castle until Steve had finished his growth spurt (age 15) and had since returned, and Steve missed the laughter and kindness he could retreat to when his father got too stiff or he was reminded one too many times of the duty he was supposedly destined to fulfill. 

“I’ve been busy.” He replied, and let Wanda pull him to one of the beds. He lay down, and almost immediately felt the pins and needles of Wanda's magic settle in his cartilage. There was no need for procedure anymore— both Wanda and Steve had been doing this for 24 years, and they were more brother and sister than patient and doctor. 

“I’ve heard.” She hummed, shaking her head and Steve gasped as her brow furrowed slightly and pull a muscle knot apart that he hadn’t even realized was there. “Does not mean you cannot take care of yourself.”

There was a period of silence before Wanda opened her mouth again. 

“If I am to be your delegate—“

“Champion. It’s more exciting.”

Wanda rolled her eyes fondly and a sensation similar to a knuckle being dug into the back of his knees made him wince. Then, his knees cracked, and he sighed blissfully. 

“If I am to be your champion— with all of the risks and regulations— I am asking only one thing.” She finished. Steve gasped as his lungs finally found the strength to expand fully. “Two things, actually.”

“That’s just asking too much.” Steve huffed through lungfuls of air. 

“The first is that you take care fo yourself. We must see each other twice a month instead of these monthly meetings. I can see what the pressure has been doing to your body, but I cannot see what it is doing to your mind, and that frightens me.”

Steve clenched his jaw and refrained from looking at her. Instead, he clenched and unclenched his teeth as he glared up at the intricate carvings in the roof. 

“Steven.”

“Fine.” He grumbled. 

“You’re not a burden, Steven. You haven’t been at any point—“

“Your next point, please.” He said sharply, ignoring the crush of anxiety against his sternum. He didn’t need anyone knowing anything about he felt about what was happening. As far as his father cared, Steve was the forefront of defense against the Darkness, yet not strong enough to be a champion. 

Instead of pushing him the way she knew wouldn’t get anywhere (Wanda saw Sarah in Steve— in their hair and eyes and pure stubbornness) she sighed and felt the beginnings of a tooth abscess, reducing that quickly and then resting her hands in her lap and waiting for Steve to crack one eye open to look at her. 

“Pietro is taken care of if I die. If I die and we lose and it all goes to hell, Pietro is protected by any means necessary. If he lives, he wants for nothing.” Wanda said, and Steve wanted to shrink away from the burning gaze she sent his way. Instead, he sat up and braced himself against pains that were no longer there and nodded resolutely. 

“I swear on my life and the king's life that Piet will live and will continue to live.” He swore and Wanda’s eyes widened at the significance of his words. 

“Thank you. I will be your ‘Champion’,” she said with a giggle. “Now turn around— I read something that could help you with what remains of your scoliosis.”

__________________________

Laughter sounded throughout the night outside of the Manhattan walls. Having just been the first man allowed in the town since anyone could remember, Steve was very happy to get away from the glares and suspicious side-eyes that the rest of the Widows gave him. Sure, he may be of the crown, but he was still a man. No man had been allowed to enter their home for thousands of years— legend had it that the Darkness had posed as a Widow— killing a high ranking general and taking her skin. She had nearly wiped them all out in the end, but with the hero and the heir, she had been sealed away once more. 

So, Steve and his godmother, Natasha strolled around the borders as they laughed and reminisced of memories made years ago and hours ago. 

“I’ve never seen you so formal, Nat.” Steve snorted, slipping in the sand slightly. The desert was cold now, and he shivered in his otherwise warm coat. Natasha rolled her shining eyes and placed a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s painful, but it must be done.” She crooned. “However, I can’t say the same for you, Sweet Thing. It’s a rare gift to see you this relaxed— even before everything got so serious.” She commented and tightened her hand to keep him from letting his shoulders touch his ears with tension. 

Steve slipped in the sand and clutched at Natasha who only laughed and pulled him closer, kissing the crown of his head fondly. 

“I’ve heard the name before— It’s what mom called me when I was little, right?” Steve whispered after a while and Natasha gave the barest hint of a frown before rearranging her face into something neutral. 

“She loved you so much she could have saved the world with it, Steve. Your father does too— don’t roll your eyes, I’m right— he just doesn’t know how to show it as well. He’s always afraid that you’ll leave him too. It wasn’t just your mother who was sick her whole life.” She sighed, looking out over the canyons on the horizon. Steve remained silent and watched the sand flick off his boots with every step. He raised his head and nodded at some passing travelers before ducking it again. 

“I miss her. Every day I wish that I’d been the one to die. The world was better with her in it, you know?” He mumbled, and when Natasha didn’t respond he was sure she’d either finally been at a loss for words or she agreed 100 percent with him. Instead, when he turned to look at her, she was not looking at him, but the travelers they’d just passed. 

“Anyone ever tell you two that it’s rude to attack from behind.” She called and the pair stopped. They looked at each other for a second and then in a flash, whipped lethal-looking blades from their boots and jackets and dove for Natasha. 

She pushed Steve into a small dune and dodged the knife easily. She clamped her hand down on one of the man's pressure points and with a yelp, he let go of the weapon in his hand. He didn’t even have a chance to realize what was happening before Natasha flipped herself around and wrapped her thighs around his neck, summing him hard into the ground. She grabbed the knife and threw it as far as she could. 

The other traveler saw his chance and with a roar and a raised blade, jumped to drive the knife into the Widows spine. 

Before Steve could cry out for her to turn around, Natasha pulled a small device from her belt and threw it at him. The man seemed to jolt in mid-air and fell, continuing to seize, and Steve marveled at the like of hot blue electricity that singed his clothing. The infamous widow bites were always, always effective, and no matter how much the capitals scientists asked for them, the Widows would not allow them to see how they worked. 

“Out of respect for the Prince, I will allow you to keep your lives.” She snarled, and the two yelped, grappling onto one another and then disappearing in a portal of black. 

“The Black Order!” Steve gasped once Natasha had pulled him to his feet. He shrugged off the worrying hands and ignored her questions of wellbeing. “Or the Children!”

“They’re calling themselves HYDRA now. The two cults decided that it was too confusing to have two names, so they made a new one. It’s not really sticking, is it.” Natasha worried, dusting sand out of Steves's hair. He grunted and wave her hands away. 

“I’m fine, Nat. Those were the cults who worshipped The Darkness, right?” Steve gulped. “The ones who are working to bring It back? Thanos?” He whispered, anxiety clutching at his throat as if he’d swallowed too much sand. Natasha caught him as his knees gave out, and sat with him in the sand. She waved for servants to bring food and water when Steve wasn’t looking— instead, staring a thousand miles in front of him. 

“Yes, Steve. Those are the ones bringing It back.” Natasha said gently and tears welled in his eyes. He looked to his godmother warily, vision of her swimming through his tears. 

“I can’t— I don’t—“ He gasped and Natasha frowned, pulling him into her lap and rocking him like she had infinite times before. It was a half-hour before he calmed down, taking a grateful sip of water when it was offered. Natasha stroked his hair as his breaths evened out. 

“Steve.” She whispered and at his grunt, she continued. “The world was so good with your mother in it, but it’s also so good because you’re in it. You know why?” She hummed and Steve angled his head up onto her shoulder. 

“Because she lives in you, Sweet Thing. She lives in your laugh, and your smile and your kindness, and your beautiful blue eyes. Your soul is the exact same as Sarah’s— and I’ve seen enough souls to know when I see two alike.” She smiled softly and Steve sniffed, tucking his nose into his godmother's neck so she didn’t need to see how he began crying once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is bucky's pov and his and steves first meeting (big eyes emoji)


	3. the sword and the stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky learns that his father and the king believe he is the hero reincarnate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for reference, picture seb at nasa for the martain promotion!

Bucky jolted awake to the sound of the garrison bells chiming before he leaned back in his cot and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’d been up late training with his father and had meant to get up early, but he’d been restless falling asleep— he was meeting with the king today. No details except for the fact that it was more important than anything else he could have been doing today. 

“You ever getting out of bed, lazy?” A gruff voice sounded from above him and Bucky peeked through his fingers, only to be met with a face which was half-covered by a burly red mustache. Dugan had been somewhat of an uncle and a pain in the ass for Bucky ever since he’d moved out of his parents' house and into the barracks. 

“I would very much like to just stay here, thanks.” He grumbled, rolling over onto his stomach and consequently half hanging off the bed. 

“No can do, Jimbo.” He said, dodging the thin pillow thrown at him by Bucky. “You have a big day ahead of you. That means you need a big breakfast.” Bucky grunted as Dugan grabbed the back of Bucky’s shirt and heaved him out of bed. 

“Fine! Okay, I’m up. Goddess.” He cursed and pulled his most comfortable pair of trousers he could find. He’d been going through massive amounts of training lately, and these were the only pants that seemed to fit over his thighs anymore. He tightened the belt tightly and pulled a tunic over his head, before tying his long hair with a leather strap. Ma said it was his lucky band, and Bucky swore he didn’t believe in that stuff. 

He swears.

“Come on, beauty queen. ‘M hungry.” Morita called, waiting behind the rest of his roommates for him to catch up. He’d been working with this group of men for a year now, and he considered them his chosen family. 

He rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless and shoved one shoe on his foot before grabbing the other and following his Howling Commandoes, hopping as he finished shoving his boot onto his person. The walk from the barracks to the dining hall was short, but it required the group to cut through a small courtyard— thick with trees and flowers and benches where noblemen and women could rest. The trees were full and fruit hung low on its branches. Bucky reached up and went to grab a shining red apple when he froze. 

The image of the castle flickered through the leaves and Bucky swallowed, letting his hand fall to his side. He was young— just 26, and he really, really wasn’t ready to go to the throne room with his father. He really liked his job, and no matter how hard he wracked his brain, he couldn’t remember one fireable offense he committed. 

Well. Throwing one of the foreign generals into one of the duck ponds didn’t count. He was being a pile of horse shit, he deserved it. 

“You’ll be fine, Barnes. You’re the Commanding Officers son, what’s the worst that can happen?” Gabe Jones put a soft hand on his shoulder and offered a small, kind smile. Bucky shrugged and continued to walk, staring at his tattered brown boots with each step. 

“Dishonourable discharge and exile?” A voice sounded from somewhere behind them. The Commandoes turned and Bucky rolled his eyes and continued to walk away from the source of the voice. “Public execution?”

Brock Rumlow was filled with jealousy and worked his hardest to make the Howlies life a living hell. He had just missed the cut to be a part of the squad, but because of his attitude and general lack of civility from everyone he failed. Instead, he was assigned to the STRIKE team— a group of slimy goons whose motto seemed to be ‘cheat to get ahead’. 

“Still pissy you got stuck with your gang of goblins? Don’t you have some garbage to eat in the moat?” Dum growled, coaxing Bucky and the rest of the men to follow him. Brock turned red and his fists clenched as they all turned his back on him. 

“You’re going to pay for that later,” Bucky said and Dum shrugged, throwing his heavy arm over his shoulders. 

“I’m looking forward to it.”

__________________________

Swords clanged against each other loudly in the wide expanse of the training yard. Unlike the place where Bucky had caught a glimpse of the castle spires, there were no castles here. Only a flat square packed with dry dirt and lined with weapons and shields for sparring. This was where he could really focus, far away from the pressure of the crown as well as the looming doom of the Darkness that the court wouldn’t stop preaching about. 

Instead, Bucky parried Derniers blow, sliding his sword under the others’ and flinging it high into the air. Bucky rolled to catch the hilt and with a turn and a sweep of his leg low to the ground, Dernier fell tot he ground, grunting when his tailbone was the first thing to make contact. 

“Did you know I hate sparring with you? I really do.” He grunted, rubbing his lower back and glaring at the hand Bucky offered. Unable to stay mad at the shining blue eyes that stared down at him, Dernier grunted and took his hand, being heaved to his feet with little to no effort. 

“But you love me.” Bucky shrugged, handing the man back his sword. 

“I tolerate you at best,” Dernier grunted, but smiled despite himself. “You’re too young to be this good— it’s not fair for the rest of us.”

“I prefer a bow.” Bucky flexed his hand, muscles tight with the effort it took to grip a six-pound sword for four hours at a time. There were new blisters on his already calloused hands and he winced when he poked them. 

“Oh!” Dernier put the back of his hand against his forehead, falling against Bucky dramatically. “How could any of us ever forget that you’re a multifaceted warrior. Strongest and bravest and most handsome amongst us all! However will we— Ouf!” Bucky cut the short man off with an elbow to the gut and a hook of his elbow around the back of his neck. He pulled the man's head down to his hip and dug his knuckles into his scalp, giggling maniacally when Dernier thrashed and yelped. 

“What are you?! Twelve?!” He shouted, grabbing Bucky’s wrist and using his weight to flip him over his shoulder. Bucky landed with a gasp against the dirt and pulled Dernier down with him. Dernier was the closest in temperament to Bucky, and Dernier was the closest thing he could imagine if Winnifred and George Barnes had raised another son. The two rolled around on the ground, yelping and laughing and not really looking to spar properly until Bucky flipped them over and pinned Derniers hand above his head. 

Bucky opened his mouth to say whatever witty thing when a dry cough sounded from above them. It was then, Bucky looked past where he had pinned Dernier to see several pairs of feet in front of him. One of them, he immediately recognized, having grown up stubbing his toes on the steel-toed boots his father left around their home. It would make sense that his father was here- he commanded this battalion and was often seen with other members of the Council. The others were of varying decadence— soft brown leather with minimal scuffing if at all- the previously mentioned council members were here as well. However, the one that he could not look away from were the ones in front of him. They were made of thick black leather with toes that were not only curled up to the sky but plated with ornate gold and jade. They were partially covered by an expensive fur-lined cloak. 

“Fuck.” He cursed, and craned his head up to the best of his ability, suppressing yet another curse when the king's impassive eyes stared back at him. He spared one glance to his father who looked as if he was rather constipated at this moment before flinging himself off of Dernier and dropping to his knee. 

“Your majesty, forgive us, we were unaware of your presence.” He apologized, and dropped his chin to his chest, hoping to the goddess that the ground would just open up and he’d die. 

“Rise, James. I wished for your father to bring me down here and see for myself that my most talented knights were just that.” The king's voice wasn’t deep or gruff by any means but it sent a chill straight to Bucky’s spine, regardless. “Rise.”

Bucky did so, and out of respect and for the king or shame from his behavior (or being caught at doing it) stared just passed his head, focussing on the silk flags that seemed to be a part of the breeze. 

“Your son is strong, George.” The king commented, and Bucky saw his father bow his head from his periphery. 

“Thank you, Sir.” Bucky tried not to prickle at the feeling of being assessed like he was some cow up for slaughter. 

“Young. No wife or child?” The king continued, and Bucky felt a flash of shame as he continued to be scrutinized in front of his peers and friends and enemies (he could hear Brock giggling with his cronies). 

“Hard to find him someone when he won’t leave the training grounds or his squad's side,” George said, not scoldingly, but with an undertone of fondness. George admired his son— he had his mother's drive. If he had his own drive, George was sure Bucky would be married with six children by now. Hell, that’s what he did.

“Passionate.” The king replied, and George and Bucky ducks their heads to hide the blush on their cheeks. 

“He’s a good man, Sire,” George said, and the king smiled widely, clapping Bucky on the shoulder and making him jump, eyes wide with anxiety at the suddenly friendly motion. Bucky realized that up until then the training courtyard behind him was completely silent, because, at the king's motion, every soldier turned to his friend and began whispering in hushed tones, one eye on the royal party as they gossiped. 

“I believe it.” The king smiled and tugged Bucky’s shoulder. If the sun was in the right place in the sky, he apparently still had a few hours until they were supposed to meet. Why was the king down here now?

Bucky stumbled over his feet nervously and shot back a terrified look to the Howlies, all who mirrored his expression. His father walked on his right side, and the king on the left, and Bucky felt suddenly very trapped, despite being the tallest and strongest of the two. 

“I apologize, your Highness.” Bucky began as they left the courtyard and walked down the outdoor hallways that wound their way up to the king's throne room and study. The closer they got to the heart of the castle, the thicker the vines grew and the brighter the flowers became. Bucky would have stopped to admire them if he were under any other circumstance. “I was unaware our meeting time had been changed. I was planning on washing up before—“

“Nonsense, my boy.” The king smiled and allowed the guards to lead them in a turn that would lead them away from the throne room. “I remember when you were first born, and George and Winnifred were busy. The queen would be sure to take you under her care and we would take turns changing your diapers— we needed to practice since we’d just received the news the Queen was with child.” The king's voice was somber but fond, and the thought that the king had seen him as naked as the day he was born made him clam up and his jaw lock. He dared a look towards his father who still had that constipated look— as if he were about to burst into laughter or tears.

The party moved down the stairs and came upon a singular, dusty statue. It was about as tall as his mother and Rebecca. The goddess's depiction had a round face that was bowed towards her clasped hands. There was a stone tray on the floor for offerings, but by the cobwebs which had gathered, Bucky was sure this corner of the castle hadn’t been visited in a long while. 

The king placed a hand on Her head, and the statue shook, shaking off decades of dust before lifting slightly and swinging open towards him. There was a small entrance, and before Bucky could think, the king and his father were walking down. Not knowing what to do otherwise, he followed. Bucky jolted and almost tripped down the stairs when the statue slammed shut behind him. 

Great. 

The small tunnel descended deeper into the ground. Soon, the warmth of the summer's day disappeared entirely and the chill of the cavern made Bucky shiver. Bucky had just opened his mouth to ask what was going on until the tunnel opened up to a massive cavern that stole the air from his lungs. It was massive— to the point that he was sure they were under the mountain beside the castle. The ceiling was at least one hundred meters, with massive stalactites made of jade and some sort of luminescent stone. There were several streams of water coming from the cave roof, landing in a ring of water that surrounded the Dias leading up to a massive statue of the Goddess— the same position as the last but at least 20 meters tall. Bucky was led onto the platform and his eyes were drawn to an ancient-looking stone with a sword punctured through it, and that’s when he knew. 

He was not here to be fired. 

“What—“ Bucky cut himself off, seeming to be drawn to this sword. The stone and weapon seemed to hum ancient magic that made every hair on his body stand tall, and Bucky’s hands shook nervously. 

“The Darkness grows nearer— poisoning the land and people. We are nearing the end of our timeline, and we’ve had our eye on you a long time, son.” The king's voice seemed far away when he spoke. “The prince is out collecting his Champions from the four realms, but it is you that we believe to be the Hero from legend. Reincarnated again.” 

Bucky could have laughed. He could have dropped to the floor and laughed until his stomach hurt and pass out. He could have done all of this if his sternum didn’t feel like a dense piece of stone and if his lungs would just expand with enough air— the lump in his throat stopped him from breathing properly. 

“But— why me? I’m just— I’m just Bucky.” He said pathetically. The sword mocked him. 

“Not only have we prayed, but we’ve been watching you for ten years now. You demonstrate remarkable determination and honor and strength. You’re quick to learn everything we’ve thrown at you, and you do miles more than is asked of you. You have the soul of the hero, James Barnes.” The king said and Bucky shuddered, his racing heart dropping to his stomach. 

“How do you know? For sure, anyway?” Bucky asked, voice weak as he stepped closer to the sword. There was a faint humming from it, and he swore he could hear a ghost of a whisper emit from the hilt. 

“We don’t. This is the ceremony which will confirm it for us.” The king said and Bucky nodded, silent. 

“You will pull the sword. If you survive, you are the hero destined to help my son seal away the darkness. If you do not survive, well. I think the answer is clear in that instance.” 

Bucky’s head whipped ups to the king, eyes wide with fear. He never thought that when he was called for a meeting, or even when he woke up today that this day may be his last. He looked towards his father, who’s face was still crumpled in a bad neutral expression. Goddess, he’d never see his ma again. Or Rebecca, or the twins, or Rachel and Jess or Jess' stupid cat who always threw up in his boots when he stayed at home. 

“Pull the sword, son,” George said, voice weak, but so, so strong at the same time. 

Bucky nodded once to himself, in a way that said ‘well, this may as well just happen’ and turned back. The closer he came to the sword the louder the energy seemed to be until he was standing with the tip of his toes just pressed to the stone. He reached his hand out, hesitating for a second until he felt two pairs of eyes on him, and then touched the sword. 

Immediately, pain shot up his left arm, splitting his shoulder in two and cracking up his spine to where it set his brain and eyes on fire. However, despite the pain, he could not retract his hand. Every time he moved, he could only get closer to the sword until his fist was wrapped around the hilt. The pain was the worst thing he had ever felt. It was worse than the time he broke his tailbone and knocked the wind out of his lungs when he fell two stories off a cliffside fighting that alablisk terrorizing the small town of Queens. This pain was worse than when his horse, Winter, had broken his jaw and collapsed his eye socket when he was breaking her in. It was every pain he had ever felt, and would ever feel all at once but electrified and tenfold. 

Distantly, he heard his father's voice call out to pull the sword, and Goddess, the pain only got worse as he continued to pull. He heard screaming from a distance, but he wasn’t sure if it was from him or from the sword as the metal ground against the stone slowly. 

It took Bucky both hours and seconds to pull the sword, but when he all the pain in his body left at once, making him feel as if he was floating. He gasped a lungful of air and felt his knees collapse from underneath him. His forehead pressed against the damp stone where the sword once rest and maybe it was his ever-growing foggy vision, but his breath puffs out in tiny grey clouds in front of his face. His entire body was shaking except for his left hand— that which held the sword. The sword had not stopped humming, but instead of the previous static tone it was singing, its music filled the room, tearing Bucky’s heart in half in the best way possible. It felt as if it were a part of him, as if a part of him that he didn’t realize was missing and had finally found him. 

He felt his father's hand land on his back and he was pulled back into a cradle in his arms as if he were a five-year-old boy once again. He whimpered, hearing the sword drag against the ground but never letting go. 

“Jamie— you did it, you pulled the sword.” His dad whispered reverently and his blurry vision landed on the king who frankly, looked over the moon. His wide and bright smile tore his face in half and was about at shining as the sun. 

“No offence, my king.” Bucky’s voice was raspy and slurred with the effort it took to speak. “But that sucked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up is steve and bucky meeting! finally!
> 
> Also the serotonin being released for every comment and kudo is unparallelled


End file.
